soup is the cure-all remedy
by cyanoscarlet
Summary: In which Victor is sick, and their daughter takes care of him. Sometimes, though, even he isn't sure exactly whom she takes after.


Victor is awakened by a faint thumping noise from outside the room. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness throughout the day, the periodical short-lived moments of sleep not granting him much relief. If he recalled correctly, Yuuri had last checked on him in the early afternoon before running his errand. His husband probably wouldn't be back home until close to midnight. From what he could gather now, it is already dark outside, but not so much for it to be quite late yet. He estimates that he must have been in bed for a good six hours or so.

Feeling sore, he attempts to get up slowly, keeping the blanket he and Yuuri usually shared around his body. The thumping noise gradually increases in volume, as if its source were approaching the room itself. Victor passively listens to its rhythm, likening it to the bass line of one of those rock songs their daughter listens to when she's studying from her room. He had learned to tune it out over time, and thus did not mind it on most days, though there were times that Yuuri had scolded her when the noise became too distracting. Tonight, however, it is giving him a headache, on top of his ongoing fever. He hates how he becomes somewhat more hyper-aware of everything whenever he's sick.

Thankfully, the thumping abruptly stops as soon as it reaches the door, followed by a soft knock. "Papa, it's me," Hina's muffled voice calls from outside. "May I come in?"

"Come in," he answers weakly. He coughs once before brushing away the beads of sweat forming above his temple. The door slowly opens, and his daughter pokes her head in, a pair of black earphones around her neck. She lets herself in, adjusting the light settings by the doorway as she did. Victor wills himself to stand up and reach for the jacket Yuuri had left him by the nightstand. Hina immediately frowns at this, quickly setting down the food tray she brought with her on the low table and going to his side to help him dress.

"Papa, you shouldn't be exerting yourself too much." His daughter gently seats him on the side of the bed, lightly placing a hand over his shivering form, then feeling his forehead and neck. "Your fever seems to have gone down a bit. How are you feeling?"

"Same as this morning, more or less." Victor shakes his head as Hina pours him a glass of water from the small pitcher which Yuuri had left on a small tray by the nightstand along with a washbasin, a thermometer and his medicines. He nods gratefully as he receives the glass from his daughter and takes small sips. As he does so, he watches her quickly scan through what he deduces must be another one of those litany of instructions his husband always writes whenever he has to go out for an extended period of time. Granted, that was not exactly the case this time around, but still.

The Russian softly laughs to himself at the thought. It's been a little over ten years, yet Yuuri is still as meticulous as ever when it comes to these things. Having been raised in a family that runs a successful inn greatly helps, of course, but he prefers to think that this much attention to detail is part of his husband's caring nature, and now it seems that their daughter is also taking after him, as well. Victor thinks, for probably the millionth time now, that he really is lucky to have married such a man, to have adopted Hina together, and for the three of them to live like this as a family.

Hina puts down the note and checks several items off the list Yuuri left, after which she takes back and returns the empty glass to the nightstand. "Papa, do you think you can eat yet? I prepared borscht."

"I'd like some." Victor smiles at the mention of the familiar dish, which, no doubt, Yuuri left the recipe out for before leaving. He's glad his nose has slightly cleared up since yesterday, albeit not by much. He could actually smell it from outside when he'd awakened, but he had been too preoccupied with his headache and the reverberating music from earlier. Hina serves some of the red soup into a smaller bowl and hands it to him with a spoon.

Victor's face brightens as he takes a spoonful. " _Vkusno_!" he exclaims in his native Russian, eliciting a chuckle from his daughter. "This is a lot better than last year! You've improved so much, _solnyshko_!"

"Thanks, Papa," Hina returns the compliment with a smile. "I practiced with _Otou-san_ and Uncle Yuri over the summer while you were in China. He's surprisingly good at cooking, actually." Her smile widens into a mischievous grin. "He even said, and I quote: ' _I'm better than Katsudon in both skating and cooking now! Take that, Victor!_ '"

Said man raises an eyebrow at this. "While Yuuri was there?" She nods, the Yurio-like cat grin still on her face.

Hina, fortunately, does not get Yuuri's inherent bashful side, for which Victor is secretly grateful. She is generally a straightforward person, though at times she could be way too blunt for her own good. He always feigns innocent ignorance whenever Yuuri wonders aloud exactly whom she takes after in this regard.

That said, though, he'd have to keep his own mouth shut, as well. It wouldn't do now to fan old flames of rivalry between the Living Legend from Japan and the reigning World Champion, even though the matter at hand had absolutely nothing to do with figure skating whatsoever.

Victor ends up splitting the pot of borscht with Hina, even though she insisted she had already eaten. The food did make him feel considerably better than how he was nearly an hour ago. She lets him drink another glass of water and a tablet of acetaminophen, then arranges the empty dinnerware on the tray and prepares to leave the room.

"Hina," he calls out to his daughter as she was halfway out of the room. Her hands full, she pushes her back to the door instead to keep it open. "Yes, Papa?"

"That music from earlier," he starts, vaguely recalling the repetitive bass line that had awakened him. "From which artist is it?"

The young girl pauses, processing what he meant before clasping at her earphones with her left hand. "Oh, this? It's the Red Hot Chili Peppers," she explains. "They've been around for quite a while now. I really enjoy their bass lines a lot. I was listening to Dark Necessities before I came in."

Victor nods, as if going along with what Hina is saying. He never really could tell those bands apart, and Yuuri was not much help, either, despite having lived in America for a while. Phichit, possibly, but he prefers pop music more in general. This kind of thing really is more of Yurio's forte; being the closest in age (with a gap of roughly 9 years), the two have bonded well over such music genres.

"It's unorthodox, but listening to good bass lines is oddly relaxing, for some reason," she remarks. "Uncle Otabek likes them, too."

 _And by extension, Otabek, it seems,_ Victor mentally adds. He wonders how many of the skaters from their generation Hina has met so far. He had to admit, he enjoys that nice, odd feeling he gets whenever he and Yuuri - youthful parents, as they are - introduce their sixteen-year-old daughter to people. Toshiya- _otou-san_ , Hiroko- _okaa-san_ and Mari have doted on her ever since, while his own mother had smiled approvingly at her upon their meeting, expecting "great things from you, young Nikiforova."

"I see," Victor says, putting aside the memory for a while. "I have to remind you, though, to not play those tunes at full volume, young lady," he admonishes, going into Stern Coach mode. "Your hearing will go bad at an early age."

A faint pink blush forms on his daughter's cheeks as she looks away, mumbling an apology as she balances the loaded tray between her two hands. Victor chuckles as he rises from the bed to support her hold, then dimming the lights again afterwards. "That's better."

This, in turn, causes Hina to laugh softly, surprising him. "You know, Papa," she gets out in between bursts of laughter, "you act like _Otou-san_ sometimes."

Victor smiles, all while feeling his ears go red. "Of course, my dear. I am married to him, after all." He pats her on the back to send her on her way. "Thanks for the dinner, _solnyshko_. Make sure to study tonight."

Hina lets out a pleased hum in response. "I will. Rest well, Papa. Good night. Love you."

"Love you, too," he answers. She smiles before finally making her way downstairs.

Victor closes the door as soon as she is out of sight and immediately goes back to sit on the bed. He finds the folded piece of paper Hina had been scanning through earlier at the edge of the bed. As expected, Yuuri had written out very detailed instructions once again, most of which had already been checked out by their daughter earlier with black ballpen. He suspects that, knowing his husband, there is also a similar list for the house chores on the dining table, with the souvenir paperweight they had gotten from the GPF at Marseilles holding it down.

Satisfied, he refolds the paper and sets it back on the nightstand before lying back down. Victor closes his eyes, reflecting on how lucky he is to have this loving, caring, albeit a bit crazy, family. This time, he drifts off into a restful sleep.


End file.
